


Much A-Dough About Muffin

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Destiel Fluff, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Puns & Word Play, Sarcasm, Teasing, Weddings, from hating each other to making out in the back room, openly gay Dean, salty cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: When Dean stepped into the first pastry shop he could find, he didn't imagine he could possibly regret that decision.Castiel, cashier at Everything & Muffin, becomes Dean's worst nightmare, and the feeling is mutual.That is, until Dean arrives in the shop one day and asks Castiel for a favor: his brother, Sam, is getting married, and Dean is supposed to arrive the wedding with his made-up boyfriend. Now, he and Castiel have to pretend they're in love for a day so that Dean's scam wouldn't be uncovered.





	Much A-Dough About Muffin

**Author's Note:**

> To Ana,  
> you always make me happy, and you're always there for me. I couldn't have been more grateful for you. I know this is not much, but I love you and I hope that maybe through this fic I can show you how much you mean to me. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. Thank you for being here for me.

When his sister commanded him to find ten boxes of cookies and bring them to her as soon as possible, Dean Googled the closest pastry shop and got into his car. He didn’t imagine he could possibly regret that decision.

The shop was ten minutes away, and it stood alone between two-stories-high apartment buildings and an abandoned parking lot. As he paced toward the store in the damp cold of February, he unfolded Charlie’s instruction page.

  * _Four boxes of frosted cupcakes_
  * _Three boxes of macaroons_
  * _Three boxes of biscotti._



The sign at the display window read _coffee + pastry for 5 dollars._ Dean didn’t notice it, almost walking into the glass door as his eyes were still on the page he held. That explained why he also didn’t realize the store was filled to the brim. He walked in anyway, too close to the scent of baked goods and the perfectly shaped frostings to back down now.

Inside, he grabbed Charlie’s requested items and placed himself at the end of the line.

He waited.

Five minutes and three steps forward later, he decided to call Charlie. As he took his phone out he glanced around, wondering how many people were about to turn their heads in his direction when he started the call.

Charlie answered at the first ring. “Please tell me that everything went perfectly well and that you’re almost here,” she asked desperately. 

“There’s a huge line at the store,” Dean said carefully, foreseeing the consequences.

“Dean!” She grumbled. “You’re still in there?”

“I’ve got everything, just waitin’ in line, which is long. I could find another bakery…”

“No!” Charlie exclaimed, startling him. “Stay there.” She thought for a moment.

“Go to the cashier and ask them if you can pay first.”

“But-“ Dean blurted, but she cut him off.

“I have a wedding in less than an hour, Dean. No ‘but’s!” The line went dead. He sighed, trying not to look at the faces around him, which got angrier and more irritated as he pushed his way through them toward the front counter.

“Excuse me,” he said, taking the lady who was next in line by surprise. “Uh, sorry.” The cashier looked up at him.

“Listen, man, I’m in a big hurry.” He lifted his hands full of cookies and a pair of pleading eyes toward the man on the other side of the counter. “Is there any chance you can put me across here?”

“No,” the cashier said bluntly, examining him. He did the same, trying to maintain a friendly mask.

The man in front of him was tall and lean, with gentle but firm muscles under his white buttoned up shirt. He had dark hair and bright eyes, bluer than August skies.

“Look, my sister is a wedding planner and she has a wedding in half an hour. Everything is going wrong for her today and she just sent me to get a few cookie boxes. I just don’t wanna fuck up.”

The customers around him were growing impatient, muttering him to move out of the way.

He glanced at the employee’s name tag. It read “Castiel Shurley”. He looked up to see Castiel’s response.

“Sir, are you pregnant?” The man asked.

Dean’s face went blank. “What?”

“Are you pregnant?” Castiel repeated.

“No,” Dean replied, confused.

“Then I can’t help you,” said Castiel calmly and gestured for the next customer to approach. Dean knew his chances were over, but the guy’s attitude agitated him. He placed a hand on the counter, drawing Castiel’s attention. “And if I were a pregnant woman,” he asked out of curiosity – and somewhat to just to be an annoyance. “Would you have let me pay?”

“No,” Castiel replied blandly, and Dean’s eyebrows furrowed as the man once again left him muddled.

“But I would have offered you my chair.” He smiled politely and turned away. Dean stacked his cookies on the counter angrily and left the shop, trying not to imagine Charlie’s face when he came back to her empty handed.

 

* * *

 

The next day was much of the same; Dean was sent to the florist to order two hundred white roses – one for each table of the next upcoming wedding – and to the caterer, to bargain about the price of the appetizers. Charlie was a full-time wedding planner, and her practiced job was to take care of every detail of the weddings she arranged. Dean had started off helping her here and there with last-minute arrangements she could only trust with with an old friend, but soon enough, without any of them realizing, he was her full-time assistant.

Now, after he grabbed the both of them lunch from the nearest pizzeria, Charlie resumed her work and sent him on another chore.

“Go to yesterday’s place,” she handed him a note and said.

“I’ll just, eh, see which bakery I can find,” Dean evaded, yesterday’s dispute with the cashier popping up in his mind. He wasn’t keen to enter that shop again.

Charlie glared at him. “Dean…”

“It was crowded,” he complained. “And… I might have, uh,” he touched his neck. “Had a little quarrel with the cashier.”

“Suck it,” Charlie said. “I googled it yesterday; it’s a good place. Crazy-Food-Lovers-Dot-Com called it the best pastry shop in town.”

Dean grumbled to himself and grabbed the list Charlie gave him, knowing he had no choice.

“I’ll be back in four years, then,” he muttered toward his sister. “After I wait in the two-miles line and have a fist fight in the mud with _Castiel_.”

 

The store wasn’t as full of customers as yesterday. Since it was an earlier hour of the day he’d hoped Castiel would be replaced by another employee, but as he stepped inside and glanced to his left, recognizing the quiff of dark hair too quickly, his hopes were let down.

He took Charlie’s shopping list out of his pocket, unfolding it for the first time, and glared at the one word written on the page.

“Are you serious?” He grumbled into the phone he was holding within seconds.

“Whatever you can get,” Charlie said after he explained his tongue-lashing. “The caterer is short on desserts and I don’t have time to find a new one.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you shouldn’t put off everything to the last minute?” He sighed. “Well, if I have to deal with that man again, you’re gonna stay on the line and talk to him.”

“Fine,” she agreed, sounding distracted. Dean went to stand at the end of the line. There was a few moments’ silence when Charlie sank into her work-bubble.

“So did you get a new tux, or are you using the one from prom?” She asked a moment later, teasing him. Their brother’s wedding was coming up, and while Charlie already had both a date and an apparel ready, Dean was struggling finding both.

“I’m going to the store next week,” he said, praying she won’t keep on questioning him. “I hate putting on these monkey suits.” He stepped forward in line.

“What about your mystery guy?” She asked, a smile in her voice, and Dean sighed.

“I, erm… I’m not sure he can come.”

“Come on,” Charlie said, and Dean stepped forward again. He was fourth in line now. “What could be more important than your brother getting married?” Dean was about to stutter and excuse, but she cut him off.

“Shit, I have to go. Listen, just do whatever you need to. I want these cakes.”

“Wha-“

She hung up.

He put his phone away and looked upwards. Two customers left.

At least he didn’t have to continue stammering excuses. He sighed.

It took a few minutes until he was finally standing by the cash register, empty handed and feeling awkward.

“You’re back,” the cashier noted dryly, only slightly squinting at him.

“Missed me?” Dean lifted an eyebrow.

“Sparks fly when you’re around,” the man said, his tone so apathetic that Dean couldn’t help but smile. He composed himself quickly enough, though.

“What do you want?” Castiel eyed the empty counter suspiciously.

“I need… well, I need everything you’ve got.”

Castiel stared at him, still deadpan. When he realized Dean wasn’t going to add anything, he spoke.

“No.”

Dean let out a huff. He really didn’t feel like doing this again.

“Look, man, I’ll pay for everything. I’ll pay more,” he suggested, but the man shook his head and shrugged.

“It’s not our policy. You can buy up to three pounds of pastries, and two cakes.” He gestured toward a fridge full of cakes the customers could see through a glass door. Dean’s hand rose to his head, his fingers tugging at the roots of his hairs.

“Not your policy,” he muttered slowly. “Got it.” He turned away, this time willingly imagining himself explaining to his sister what happened, but a voice to his right made him halt in place.

“Eh, sir?”

“Dean,” he muttered, his hands rising and falling to his sides, as if it didn’t make any difference anymore if Castiel the cashier at _Everything & Muffin _knew his name.

“Dean,” the man repeated and pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of one of his drawers. “Hold on a moment.”

There weren’t many people in line after him, but the few customers groaned at the delay and muttered to themselves and toward the two men angrily. Castiel ignored them, writing vigorously on his paper. A couple of moments later, he handed Dean the page. It had some sort of a chart, counting the days of the week at its top.

“My schedule,” said Castiel fake-heartily. “So we can avoid seeing each other in the future.”

“You do know how to make a guy feel special.” Dean folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket. “I hope you get the ‘worst employee of the month’ award,” he smiled at Castiel sweetly and left the shop.

Castiel turned to the next customer.

And then the next one.

The days passed slowly in the small pastry shop on 666 Crobby Kisst street, but he tried not to let it bother him. The bright mornings were always easier than the drizzly nights when he came back to his empty apartment, which wasn’t anymore filled with dreams about becoming a computer technician. He stopped pondering a long time ago at the future he thought he’d have when he registered for college, before the drugs and dropping out and rehab and finally, 666 Crobby Kisst street.

He used to hope he would find a good job, a wife and a nice place to live. Now, more often than not, he just hoped they would rerun Doctor Who on TV.

 

* * *

 

During the next few weeks, whenever Charlie sent him to _Everything & Muffin _Dean took a look at the handwritten schedule that was pinned to a bulletin board on his and Charlie’s office, refusing to visit the store if Castiel’s schedule remarked he was working. In these cases, Charlie would have to decide whether to visit the shop herself or settle for second best.

As the weeks passed, an idea came to life within Dean’s mind. He didn’t care much for it, and he was positive the other person involved in his theoretical scam would be just as reluctant to cooperate, but time was short and he was running out of options. Eventually, on a late Tuesday night, he said goodbye to his brother and sister after hours of final arrangements for Sam and Jess’ wedding and drove away in the direction of his apartment. Before arriving home, though, he took a turn and entered a small, abandoned parking lot. He’d looked at Castiel’s schedule enough times to practically know it by heart at this point, and he didn’t have to check to know that Castiel was just finishing his night shift.

There was one customer inside the shop – a ginger young lady who was browsing the breads section. Castiel was at his counter, seemingly solving a crossword. He didn’t look up when Dean walked in.

Dean went to stand by the cake fridge, pretending to be browsing himself. He was lost in his own thoughts and nervous speech rehearsals, only barely stopping himself from jumping with surprise when someone appeared to his side.

“Got any recommendations?” The lady smiled at him.

“Not really,” Dean admitted, smiling back politely. “I’m just here for the quality banter.” He gestured with his head toward the front of the shop. Overhearing their conversation, Castiel raised his head with a slightly opened mouth that shut and thinned as soon as he recognized Dean.

“This one looks good,” said the woman and pointed at a Black Forest cake, frosted with whipped cream, chocolate flakes and cherries.

“Not my favorite,” Dean admitted, paying more attention to the conversation now. He scanned the tags beneath the cakes.

“I like the pies,” he said, his finger pointing through the glass. “Pecan pie is the best.”

“Sounds good to me,” the woman said and took the pie out of the fridge.

“Hey,” she added, her voice still upbeat but more hesitant. “Would you like to grab a coffee sometime?”

Dean’s face straightened, taken aback. From the corner of his eye he saw Castiel smiling at his crossword, and he pulled himself together.

“Sorry, lady,” he said. “I don’t swing that way.”

The few moments of torture until she paid for her pie and left the shop were embarrassing enough without Castiel’s cheeky grin accompanying the woman to the door. When she finally left, Dean approached the cashier.

“That lady was really living the dream for a moment there,” Castiel said before Dean had the chance to change the subject. “Meeting a strange man in a shop when no one else is around, discussing pastries together… She should have known that whoever has such definite opinions about cakes is either a hardworking chef or queer.”

Dean’s nose wrinkled. “That’s offensive.”

Castiel leaned back in his plastic chair and folded his arms, smirk still intact. “We’re in the same boat, buddy.”

“Lucky me,” Dean muttered, but he noted to himself that Castiel being gay made what he was about to do somewhat easier.

Castiel lifted an eyebrow, and pulled a sign out of a drawer in his counter. It read _CLOSED._

“We’re closing,” he noted.

“Good. I wanted to talk to you alone,” Dean said. “It won’t take long.”

“Why are you nice today?” Castiel asked, ignoring him, still sounding sarcastic as he crossed the room and hung the sign on the door.

“Well, I’m not in a hurry,” Dean said, leaning his arm on the counter and watching Castiel go back behind it. “Also, I’m not denied any service.”

Castiel leaned his head on his palm, his lips puckering. “Yet.” Objectively, Dean thought, he looked cute. But it was hard to separate his beauty from his agitating personality.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“I… I need help. I know you didn’t want to see me again, but I don’t have many friends, and you’re my last hope.” He gulped, looking at the counter between them. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t desperate.” 

He’d figured Castiel would mock him for his despair, but the man’s face straightened with attention. When he saw he was being taken seriously, he went on.

“My brother’s wedding is next week and I, uh… I need a date.”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. Dean’s eyes landed on the counter again.

“I… May have told my family I’m in a relationship to get them off my back. And now they’re expecting some guy to show up to the wedding, and the few friends I’ve got either couldn’t come or thought I was a weirdo for asking them.” Castiel’s lips curved up with amusement and Dean couldn’t help but respond with a small smile.

The cashier was quiet for a moment, before he leaned back in his chair and spoke.

“And why would I help you?”

Dean let out a huff. “Well – I figured that attending a fancy event full of strangers to whom you can tell whatever you want about your date, who’ll have no choice but to agree, is something you’d consider fun,” he explained tonelessly. “Also, free food.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever I want…?” He repeated. Dean swallowed. “I can say you call me Misha in bed?”

“No- what?” He frowned. “What’s a Misha?”

“Serbian for mouse,” Castiel said, his stare challenging.

“Well, please don’t do that.”

Castiel squinted, examining Dean’s features. Perhaps he was considering the sincerity of Dean’s suggestion.

“You are aware I’ll be able to do and say as I want, and you won’t be able to stop me,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you still want me to be there.”

“Yep.”

“Well, then. You just made a deal with the devil.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel’s statement, but deep inside he couldn’t help but wonder whether the guy was really overrating himself, or if it could actually be that bad.

He hoped Castiel was just being dramatic.

“Text me your address,” he said, shaking his troubling train of thoughts away, and slammed a piece of paper with his phone number onto the counter. “I’ll pick you up Sunday at nine. Bring a tux.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel wasn’t exactly a fan of weddings.

He thought they were pointless; but if someone were sentimental enough to get married – he believed the ceremony should take place at city hall, without a priest or a couple hundred pairs of eyes staring at you, waiting for you to trip.

Sam and Jessica’s wedding was the absolute opposite of a city hall wedding. Dozens of guests were crammed into a sunlit church on the other side of the city. The walls of the building were tall and white, decorated with stained-glass windows.

Castiel found an isolated corner and waited for instructions from Dean. He was admiring a Jesus that stared at him kindly from a nearby wall - the only detail about this place that caught his interested attention – when Dean appeared at the corner of his eye, walking toward him with an upbeat young redhead to his one side and a guy with long hair to his other. The other guy was tall, his frame wide and sturdy, but the bright and warm expression on his youthful face made him look no older than Castiel himself.

“These are my siblings, Sam and Charlie,” Dean explained once they were close enough to Castiel to have a conversation. “They were just asking about you.” Castiel took another look at the young man and woman, trying his best to smile. He couldn’t tell which one was Sam and which one was Charlie – both names were gender-neutral and Dean didn’t gesture at each sibling during his introduction – but he could tell Dean’s brother was the youngest sibling, and almost as handsome as his brother. He and Dean both wore tuxedos, a striking contradiction to the knee-length green dress their sister was wearing. She wasn’t nearly as tall, and had pale skin and hair the color of dark flames, and Castiel wondered whether she had the same two parents as her brothers.

“Guys, this is Cas,” Dean disrupted Castiel’s examination, who glared at him when he heard the nickname. Dean didn’t mind him though, seeming satisfied while Castiel had to endure a handshake from Dean’s brother and a hug from his sister.

  _Fine,_ Castiel muttered to himself. _If you_ _’_ _re in the mood for cute nicknames, I_ _’_ _d bet you won_ _’_ _t object a lighthearted prank._

“We don’t really know each other, actually,” he sled the words through the siblings’ small talk, and the three of them stopped talking and stared at him. “He paid me to be here.” He gestured lightly toward Dean with his head, watching the three jaws fall with shock, waiting with a deadpan stare _one, two, three_ seconds before he added a “just kidding,” and the three mouths in front of him closed and curved into embarrassed smiles.

“Excuse us,” Dean managed to blurt out after a few moments’ awkward silence. He grabbed Castiel’s arm too tightly and pulled him away.

“What was that supposed to mean?” He grumbled once they were out of anyone’s hearing range.

“You told me I can say whatever I want, didn’t you?” Castiel raised a provoking eyebrow at him, but his smile had an edge to it. Dean’s pretention to be that close to him aggravated him.

“Say, did I do something to you or did you just see me once and decided to make my life hell?”

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t care much for the nickname. Are we going to be calling each other ‘honey’ and ‘pumpkin spice’ by the end of the day?” He was still being dragged across the church, until Dean finally halted and turned his back on a man and a woman in their fifties that were arguing quietly.

“Well, I couldn’t call you _Castiel._ _”_ Dean’s tone suggested that he was stating the obvious. “It’s too weird. They’d think you’re Russian or something.”

“That’s racist. And-“ He started, but Dean’s eyes suddenly widened and he put both his palms on Castiel’s mouth, silencing him as promptly as possible. His hands were big, and easily covered more than half of Castiel’s face.

He furrowed his eyebrows, startled by the sudden proximity of Dean’s body to his, and took one hand off his face to be able to breathe.

While Dean seemed to be anxiously weighing options in his head, it only took Castiel a moment to realize that the couple right by them had stopped talking and was now looking at them.

With a certain struggle, Dean’s lips curved into a smile and he turned around.

“Mom. Dad,” Dean said, his cheerful tone forced. He took a step back to stand beside Castiel, who examined the faces before him with new interest.

The both of them greeted their son, peeking glances at Castiel.

“This is Cas,” Dean introduced again. His father – standing a fair distance away from his mother, Castiel now noticed – stepped closer and shook Castiel’s hand. “John Winchester,” he introduced himself before the blond, tense woman beside him pulled Castiel into what felt to him like a slightly-too-warm hug.

“I’m Mary,” she said as she let go, smiling at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs.-“

“Um,” Dean blurted loudly, gripping Castiel’s arm and pulling him close.

“Divorced,” he said quietly under a cough.

“Oh,” Castiel smiled at the two politely. “Well then, nice to meet you.”

“What are you all happy about?” Dean asked nervously as they walked away, glancing sideways at Castiel’s snickering.

“It amuses me to slowly unravel the melodramatic mysteries of your family,” he answered, and Dean pouted. He couldn’t complain, though, and he knew it. His date has acted almost flawlessly so far.

The ceremony and the reception seemed equally tasteless to Castiel. Dean was stirred, though, trying to hide a few tears at a stage. At some point, he mumbled to Castiel “I never believed I’d get to see this day,” and Castiel just rubbed his back awkwardly, not sure what he meant. Later that day he will find out that Sam was the groom and Charlie was Dean’s adopted sister. In a few months, he’ll discover that ten years ago Dean was involved in a car accident and had spent a year in the hospital before his father donated him his liver and his uncle, Bobby, donated his heart, both men saving his life. But for now, Castiel sat at the Winchesters’ table with Charlie clutching his hand and watched Dean making bad jokes in his best-man speech. He didn’t understand most of it – it was based on inside jokes and private events, but Dean’s proud smile that always followed the guests’ laughter was a sight that forced your lips up, even if your brain told you otherwise.

 

* * *

 

The sun was making its way to the west and the sky was darkening slowly.

“What are you doing?”

Castiel turned toward the voice.

 “Getting drunk,” he replied, assuming Dean has referred to the cup in his hand. He’s had enough socializing for one day, and he wanted to go home.

Dean put on a smirk and sluggishly took a seat by the nearly completely vacant table. He grabbed a glass of wine matching Castiel’s, watching Sam and Jess’ friends swaying ridiculously on the dance floor in the big hotel hall. He didn’t even bother to ask his date to dance – it seemed like neither of them would enjoy the experience.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” He wondered, turning to examine Castiel’s slender figure. He never looked at the man as thoroughly before, and with a proper look from a short distance Dean realized Castiel seemed to be younger than Dean had taken him to be.

Castiel only took another sip of his drink and snorted. “If I’m not, then the joke’s on you since you brought me here as your date… And touched my butt.”

Dean pouted at him, recalling the family photo they all took earlier, when Dean’s fingers may have slipped a bit too low down Castiel’s back.

“It was an accident.”

“I’m sure. How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-nine,” Dean said carefully, waiting for Castiel’s response. “You?”

“Twenty-three,” he said, gulped the last of his wine and placed his glass on the table. Mentally, he hardly felt eighteen; he’s had no idea where his life was going since he sobered up.

He spun the glass around on the table with two of his fingers. He hated feeling so clueless about his future; it made him feel helpless.

Beside him, Dean rested his face in his palm. “Oh my god.”

“What? You wouldn’t date me just because I’m a few years younger?” There was a reproofing note to Castiel’s voice now.

 “Maybe I would,” Dean decided after a moment. Did Castiel imagine the way the other man glanced at his lips?

“Just because you’re so pretty. What, is that word too feminine for you?” He added in response to Castiel’s grimace. “That’s just a bit sexist, y’know.”

“I just hadn’t figured all I am to you is a pretty face.” Castiel was done playing with his glass and was now fiddling with a loose strand of the tablecloth, fixing his eyes on it.

“Nah,” Dean said and Castiel looked up. “You’re annoying, too.”

They smiled silently for a moment.

“I don’t really know anything about you, man,” Dean said then. He tried to recall if Castiel has ever told him something about himself, but all he really knew about the man was his work schedule and his dislike for Dean himself.

Castiel’s train of thoughts headed the same direction. He looked up at the dozens of strangers dancing in front of him.

“Well, I don’t know you at all, either,” he said eventually, pausing. “But I know your whole family.” Dean laughed when he looked at him, and Castiel responded with a reluctant smile.

“It’s been a long day, eh?” Dean said, watching his fake-boyfriend. He looked tired, and sad.

He could still come back later if he drove Castiel home, Dean reminded himself and stood up. “C’mon, let’s get out coats.”

He couldn’t hear Castiel walking on the carpeted floor through the hotel corridor, but he could feel him right behind his back.

It didn’t take too long to find the right room – the door was open, and Castiel followed Dean into the pitch black room.

“Do you see the light switch?”

“No…”

Dean’s fingers fondled the wall, searching for the switch. All he could see were the outlines of the bed, a pile of clothes on top of it, and Castiel’s shadow beside him. His fingers bumped into something, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t the light switch but another set of fingers.

“Oh-“ He was about to mumble a “sorry”, but something silenced him.

 

Charlie paced down the corridor, searching for room number 189. She tried to memorize the man’s looks – short, with straight brown hair and a funny name; Drowley? Crobby? – and the description of his coat – black and long – which he gave her after he said he was in a hurry and asked where he could find his coat, and she offered to go up and fetch it for him.

She entered the room promptly, sending her hand to the light switch, which was placed higher than anyone who didn’t know better – not like herself – would expect. She turned to the bed, ready to start the search for the coat, and froze when she discovered she’s not alone.

Lying on the bed beside the pile of coats, her brother and his boyfriend stared at her wide-eyed. Cas’ fingers rested frozen on Dean’s chest between the two unbuttoned sides of his shirt, and Dean’s hand lay on the part of Cas’ body that was just a bit too high to be called the back of his thigh.

 _“_ _Not again,_ _”_ Charlie complained and glared at her brother as the two men stood up promptly. Did she imagine Cas’ belt was half-opened before he straightened his shirt and the belt was gone underneath it?

Dean ran a hand through his disheveled hair, glancing at the other man nervously.

Castiel, on the other hand, glowered at Dean. “You kissed someone _else_ in this wedding?”

“Relax, she’s talking about her sweet sixteen party, ages ago. You’ll never forget that, eh?” Dean muttered at Charlie and briefly placed his palm on Castiel’s shoulder as if to tell him to calm down. “When was that, thirty years ago?”

“Ha ha. Ten,” Charlie answered dryly, glancing at Castiel as though to make sure to let him know she’s not forty years old. “Well, I’ve got a coat to get to this Crowley guy,” Charlie said and started going through the coats. “You guys go get _another_ room.”

They left the room silently, abashedly adjusting their collars and the ends of their sleeves on the way to the elevator, where they stopped walking and looked away. Suddenly, the patterns on the carpet were fascinating to examine. No one pressed the elevator button.

“So,” Castiel uttered, trying to wipe the nervousness away from his voice. “After we’ve established we don’t entirely despise one another – would you maybe like to, eh, go to the cinema sometime? Tomorrow, maybe?” He was looking at Dean’s shirt now, making efforts to force his eyes higher up.

“Promise you won’t attack me like back there?” Dean smiled and gestured down the hall with his thumb.

“Promise.” Castiel smiled back hesitantly, and Dean pushed the button. They entered the empty elevator silently and stood a fair distance away, Castiel pursing his lips and doing his best to concentrate on his grandmother and other dead family members. All it took was Dean glancing at him from the corner of his eye, though, and they were right where they had left off, their tongues pressing against one another like swords in a battle, Castiel’s fingers untangling from Dean’s hair only when the elevator doors reopened.

They stepped out into the hall, trying to suppress their abashed smiles. Their coats were left upstairs in a dark room, forgotten.

 

* * *

 

From the next day on, Dean visited the pastry shop down Crobby Kisst Street every day, driving Castiel home at the end of his shifts.  After three months, Dean shortened his name to Cas. After six months, he started staying nights over at Cas’ place. After a year, he moved out of his and Charlie’s loft and into Cas’ small apartment, both of them spending most their savings on Cas’ college tuition, as that summer he finally decided to give college another try and study computer science.

The morning following Dean moving in was a cloudy September day, and instead of taking the seven-minute trip in the car as always, Cas insisted they’d take a walk.

“What’d I miss?” Asked Sam and shut the door of the car as he slipped into the back seat.

“They’re waiting at the crosswalk,” Charlie updated him and pointed at a couple standing to the left side of the windshield. The car was parked at the perfect spot from which they could see the whole of Crobby Kisst Street.

Jessica grabbed the binoculars, looking through them before passing them backwards to her husband.

“They’re holding hands,” she informed the small crowd.

“That’s a good sign,” Charlie clapped her hands merrily from the driver’s seat.

“Was the fight really that bad?” Sam asked.

“He did say he regretted wanting to move in with Cas,” Charlie noted and they sank into a heavy silence before Charlie spoke again.

“Dean is all talk sometimes.” They watched the couple cross the road and stand by _Everything & Muffin. _Cas put his arms around Dean’s neck and said something before they smiled at each other and kissed. The silence in the car turned content and slightly uncomfortable as Cas and Dean’s make-out session deepened before they separated and turned in different directions, Cas entering the shop and Dean walking back toward his new home, both men’s soft smiles almost invisible from the siblings’ stakeout spot.

On the other side of the street, the thought of his sister came to Dean’s mind. He felt bad for lying to her last night, but he didn’t particularly feel like explaining to Charlie she was catching him during the very last stages of convincing his boyfriend to have sex, and Cas thankfully agreed with him. There wasn’t a quicker way to make your family stop calling, he learned along the years, than tell them you were in the middle of a fight.

“I feel like a stalker,” Jess said, but smiled, and Charlie smiled back at her.

“This was your best idea,” Sam laughed at his sister and patted her shoulder.


End file.
